I behold the beauty, but the beauty got a hold on me
by BabyBrown
Summary: "Now, I know these aren't some drugstore brand. What are they, Armani?" She asks, closely watching his face as she unzips his pants and slides her hand inside, grabbing him firmly and with familiarity.


**Title** | I behold the beauty, but the beauty got a hold on me  
**Summary | **_Now, I know these aren't some drugstore brand. What are they, Armani?" She asks, closely watching his face as she unzips his pants and slides her hand inside, grabbing him firmly and with familiarity_._  
_**Author's** **Note | **Written for waltzmatildah because she's the bestest enabler ever. Title from "Lisa Baby" by Walk the Moon. (PS, I don't like beer so oops if I chose a bad one.)

* * *

The first time he buys her a drink, it's six month's after Jerry's death.

Traci has organized a memorial service at the Penny and all of 15 is present, barring two very obvious exceptions. Luke passes by Sam a couple times, deep in conversation with the new transfer, Marlo, and mentally berates the idiot for ever letting Andy go.

"Here's to Jerry." Frank calls out, raising the drink in his hand with the rest of the bar following suit. Luke looks at Traci and sees her flanked by Chris and Noelle, the former with his arm around her shoulders in support.

Not exactly knowing why (_which is total bullshit...but more on that later_) Luke begins searching for Gail, the other person who would probably be having a tough time today. He can still remember the devastation on her bruised and cut up face when he conducted the interview in her hospital room, those of which have now completely faded...the superficial ones at least.

Having become a bit of a loner ever since Collins left on assignment, he finds her sitting alone at the bar away from the crowd. Watching as she stares at her phone, checking for missed calls that aren't there, it doesn't take a genius to figure out she's waiting for Collins to call, text or email; to send some kind of acknowledgment of the day. (_He has a feeling she would gladly take a carrier pigeon or smoke signals at this point._)

Luke can't help but feel a tiny bit responsible. While he _knows_ that Nick is a grown man and can make his own decisions, and while he _knows_ that Gail is an officer and understands the protocol for undercover jobs, it doesn't lessen the feeling of guilt in his gut. Not when she looks so miserable.

_(Okay, so that's not the only reason behind his guilt...but he's not quite ready to admit how much he really needs to atone for.)_

So he sends over a drink; nothing fancy, just a bottle of Molson Dry, which she accepts without even so much as a nod of thanks in his direction.

And that's how it starts. Enter bar. See Peck sitting alone. Send her a drink. Ignore each other for the rest of the night. (_The bartender still gives him a weird look.)_

But eventually something had to give...he just didn't expect it to be her.

* * *

_It happens one month and six drinks later._

* * *

Answering nature's call in an oddly empty men's room, Luke suddenly senses someone's eyes trained on his back. There's only one person he can think of who would be so brazen, and when he turns his head, there _she_ is, wearing a white button down shirt and a short skirt.

_The same skirt she wore when..._

"Gail, this is the men's room." He's glad his voice is steady despite the sudden spike in his blood pressure.

"I know. I read the sign before I came in." She's leaning against the door, head tilted to one side, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of her skirt. He watches as she reaches behind her and clicks the lock into place, a devious smile on her lips, and that's when he knows that _she_ knows that_ he _knows exactly what's going on.

_(Confession time: so remember how he avoiding the complete story about his guilt over Gail Peck? Well, it's not all guilt over Nick Collins. It's also kinda...partly...mostly...about the way he ditched her after their _thing _last winter_.)

Luke swallows the memory of her mouth around his cock, of his fingers digging into the side of her face, of the half moons her nails leave behind on his thighs, and instead focuses on the present flesh-and-blood Gail...as well as the now increasingly uncomfortable situation in his pants.

"Boxer briefs, nice." Gail gives him an approving glance, fingers tapping lightly against her lower abdomen.

"Gail, what do you want?" He grits out, carefully pulling the zipper up on his pants, trying not to direct her attention to the increasing problem going on below the belt.

"Oh, I just wanted to, you know, thank you for the drinks. I'm mighty grateful." She flutters her eyelashes in a way he knows is mocking, especially when paired with the fake southern twang in her voice.

"You could have thanked me outside _after_ I finished using the bathroom." Luke silently begins praying; for divine intervention, for a sudden zombie outbreak, for anything that will get him out of this situation.

"I wanted to do _it_ when we were alone." Luke can feel a lump forming in his throat, her thinly disguised words having the effect she's obviously aiming for.

"Well, you're welcome." He replies, hoping that that will be the end of it...but knowing Gail, it probably isn't. Not when she took the trouble of wearing _that_ specific outfit.

"But I was wondering," she begins walking towards him, her hips swaying slightly from side to side, "_why_ have you been buying me all these drinks?" The look in her eyes has him frozen to the spot, like she's the predator and he's her prey. His breathing becomes shallow when she starts unbuttoning her shirt to reveal a very green, very revealing lace bra, breasts barely contained by the thin material. Her skin glows in the dim lighting and he can just make out the dark areolas through the transparent fabric.

"No reason." He hates how strangled his voice sounds, how he's unable to remove his eyes from her chest...how he wants nothing more than to swirl his tongue around the hard nipples he can see pushing against the lace. At this point, he's completely within her power and they both know it.

"You should go back to your friends Gail." He protests weakly, unable to think clearly with her coming closer and closer, which come to think of it has always been a problem for him. In a crowd he's fine; peachy keen even, but put him alone in a room with her and all coherency flies out the window. It's the reason why he took a series of jobs outside of 15; to keep a healthy distance away from her.

"Why? Don't you find me attractive?" She pouts, her fingers lightly dragging down her neck and across the exposed mounds of her breasts.

"I was just being nice." He can barely manage to get the words out, and he hates how tongue tied she's making him. The last time he was this nervously aroused, he was sixteen and Aimee Benson was giving him a blow job in her basement in the middle of the afternoon, her parents on the floor right above them.

Reaching a hand out, her fingers run against the elastic band of his underwear, fingers cold and precise. "Now, I _know_ these aren't some drugstore brand. What are they, Armani?" She asks, closely watching his face as she unzips his pants and slides her hand inside, grabbing him firmly and with familiarity. He clenches his jaw to prevent the moan in his throat from escaping.

"Tell me to stop," she murmurs against his mouth, her hand beginning to stroke faster and faster.

"I want you inside me." She purrs, her chest rising invitingly with every breath. Looking down at her lips, a slash of red against a sea of white, Luke feels something snap inside him.

Pulling her closer, his hands digging into the flesh of her back, his lips cover hers with an almost religious fervor. But he's much too aroused for just a simple kiss. Releasing her lips, he starts licking and biting his way down her neck, all with the intention of arriving at her breasts. With a skilled hand, he drags one strap off her shoulder and cups her right breast, bringing it to his mouth and sucking deeply, swirling his tongue around the pebbled nipple the way he fantasized about not two minutes earlier. He isn't doing this long before she's bringing him back up to her lips.

Gail takes control of the kiss and slides her tongue into his mouth, and he can taste a hint of blueberry and vodka. Her hand, finding its way back into the front of his jeans, starts massaging his balls in a slow and teasing manner. Luke gasps into her mouth, the muscles in his lower abdomen tightening as he approaches that deliciously painful precipice.

"Gail...stop..." he pants, putting a hand around her wrist to stop her. She pulls back and looks down at their joined hands.

"Oh." Her lips form a small circle, an eyebrow arching upward. "Can't have that happening," she smirks. "At least not yet."

Gail takes a couple steps back, reaches under her skirt and pulls down a pair of matching green panties. She does this all without breaking eye contact with him, and he had no idea he could get any harder by just watching her. The sight of her wearing a skirt and ballet flats, one breast exposed, makes him feel like he just walked into a porno. Not one of those terribly cheesy ones, but like the incredibly hot ones he _doesn't_ have hidden on the high shelf of his closet. Definitely _not _the ones that went into regular rotation during his self-imposed celibacy after the disaster with Jo, Andy _and_ Gail last year.

Walking back to him, she quickly pulls down his pants and his underwear down to his knees, his cock springing upwards eagerly. With his helps, she then climbs on top of him, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist, heels digging into his ass. Luke's breath catches when she holds him, positioning him to the right angle. His stomach lurches when he feels her slowly, _so slowly_, lower herself onto him; his dick is so close to her wet cunt, twitching with anticipation, when she suddenly stops.

"Oh, silly me, I completely forgot." Gail laughs, her sweet breath tickling his nose, quickly hopping off of him. The movement is so unexpected that he falls forward, hand shooting out to grab the stall wall next to them. He watches as she begins readjusting her bra in confusion.

"I have a boyfriend. You might know him," she remarks, pulling on her shirt and nonchalantly fastening the buttons. "I mean, you did choose him for Project Dakota." The anger in her voice becomes embarrassingly apparent, and he feels like an idiot. All of _this_ was just her twisted form of revenge for sending her boyfriend on an undercover assignment.

"Tell Nick I said hi." She whispers against his mouth before shoving him back into the stall door, skirt swaying as she leaves him achingly hard, her underwear left on the floor as a souvenir.


End file.
